The clock says “When will it be morning?”
The sun says “Noon hurt me.”
The river cries with its mouthful of mud
And the sea moves every way without moving.
Out of my ear grew a reed
Never touched by mouth.
Paper yellows, even without flame,
But in words carbon has already become diamond.
A supple river of mirrors I run on
Where great shadows rise to the glance,
Flowing all forward and bringing
The world through my reflection.
A voice like a ghost that is not
Rustle that dead in passage
Leaving the living chilled,
Wipe clear the pure glass of stone.
Wipe clear the pure stone of flesh.

  • 0
  • 3
Entrar para comentar...
Memoona Afzal
más de 2 años

Loved it

Preferido o celebrado por...

Yuni Chactas Memoona Afzal

Otras obras de Ted Hughes...

Algunos poetas que siguen a Ted Hughes...

Jessica Boyce Hannah Malak Alrashed Ita Venegas Pérez Alison Furey Taras Kovaliuk